Minimalist tendencies

I've entered a time of minimalism. The new, minimalist shoes are a coincidence (and a runner/shoe geek post is coming soon).

Even the greatest of humans leaves so little footprint on the planet. Far better to embrace this. Keep what's used and enjoyed, or enjoy and use what you keep — but let go the illusion that objects house your identity or give your life substance. Minimal.

I'm giving away things I've hung onto for far too long: books I'll never read again, accessories I'll never wear, supplies for projects I'll never finish, trinkets that once had sentimental value but have been long forgotten.

I don't have enough time left in life to pretend that someday there will be a reason to have kept these things. This is true if I live five days or fifty years more. As movement has become precious to me — indispensable — collected and unused things have become thousands of tiny anchors.

I would rather be on my bike than in the museum of my past.

And I'm looking at the new minimalist shoes and thinking about the heavier anchors I've let go over the past year.

Like thinking of myself as physically weak and unable to propel my body into amazing, deeply satisfying territory far beyond its current limits.

Like using lack of confidence as an excuse. Like thinking of my body in any way a failure, even if others might openly or subtly categorize it so.

I've let go of dieting, of weight loss goals, of comparisons to an elusive ideal. (Also of processed foods and most sugar and refined flour. That's another post too.)

Goodbye to an anchor of lethargy. Goodbye to an anchor of doubt. Goodbye to an anchor of hesitancy.

It's a fair bit of work. You know anchors don't just fall away. You have to saw through them. It's not painless if the anchor is part of you.

But worth it to feel light, lighter than air: minimal.